Meester Hatt

My brain is full of fuck

This bullshit.

You probably think I’m lazy, you probably think I’m a skiver, you probably think I’m a cunt, you probably think I’m unemotional.

This doesn’t phase me. Because me grip on reality right now is extremely limited. The lucidity of this current feeling is similar to the lucid drunkness of pure ethanol, but with no grogginess, but no impetus to move. My mind is racing at 1000 miles an hour, always reaching the same low, dark and shit-stained part of my brain, whichever road I take.

Pressure is bulding, lines of support snapping, or being cut by me. Paranoia creeps into my brain from every angle attacking my mind like a hidden army of ghosts. Guilt now the main driving force behind every choice.

Food and cigarettes provide little solace, the book of thoughts has been somewhat desecrated and thrown across the room.

All I want to do is talk. but I have no voice.

The people I want to talk to are too heavily involved, or I don’t trust.

A wedding? Where’s my invite?

Right, I’m happy for them. A wedding is a cool thing. But I don’t know these people, even if I have seen there faces plastered everywhere for nearly a year. I pity them as well, grandiose weddings are one thing, but this is fucking everywhere, that’s a lot of pressure on an already tense day.

But it’s not even that, it’s others cynical celebration of this day. “It’ll do the economy good”, “tourism will boom”, “it’s a step towards a great olympics”, “it’s patriotic”, “it’s a day off”.

What about them? No one seems genuinely happy that they’re married because they’re married.

Congrats Will & Kate.

Fuck you britain, enjoy your day off.


Why does it alway end up like this?

It’s 25 minutes ‘til the third hour of the new day, and here I am.

I have to fill my time until some ridiculous hour of the day, effectively ruining any chance of a good night’s sleep. Why?

Because I’m bored.

What a fucking awful excuse, but it’s true.

I can’t find enough things to fill my time during the day, then it get’s past 1am and i’m full of ideas to fill my time.

What should I be doing? Sleeping

What am I not doing? sleeping


Good Morning.

Good Morning.

Unfocussed, crusty eyes.

I’ve just woken up, at 13:13.

My eyes and forehead feel like they’ve been under a heated pnuematic drill.

I hate oversleeping in a warm room.


Meanwhile…In the 1920’s

Meanwhile…In the 1920’s

Who yo Daddy bitch? I’m Yo’ DADDY!

Who yo Daddy bitch? I’m Yo’ DADDY!

The Larger man(writing)

“I’ve never been a nice bloke, really”
“I’ve hurt people, women…kids”
“I didn’t mean to, I…just”
“I just can’t help it”

“I just don’t give a shit”

45 minutes later the priest left his section of the confession box and wandered between the pews towards the alter hurriedly.

The other man, a lumbering mass of muscle, dried blood and knuckles, slowly opened the door.
He was in no hurry, he had no rush.

The priest mumbled out words, latin words. He was knelt before the huge emblazoned cross, his hands grasped tight.
The other man could hear certain words he recognised.







“You know what’s coming to you, don’t you, father”?

The priest yelped the last words of his last words, before craning his neck round, slowly bringing his body carouselling round to face the larger man.

He opened his mouth to match his eyes, he went to speak.
He stuttered.

The gun didn’t.

By the time the organist had returned from the toilet, to see the father dead, the larger man had already left the city.